


fever when you hold me tight

by oh_my_stars_and_sky



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Adult Lydia Deetz, Aged-Up Lydia Deetz, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beetlejuice Is A Man Out Of His Time, F/M, Maternal Barbara, One Big Happy Family, Quadruple-Parenting, Sick Fic, wholesome content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26023240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_my_stars_and_sky/pseuds/oh_my_stars_and_sky
Summary: Lydia has the flu. Her (four) parents aren't really concerned, but her (undead) lover certainly is.Fic Requested by Mim :)
Relationships: Adam Maitland/Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz, Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz, Charles Deetz & Delia Deetz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 98





	fever when you hold me tight

**Author's Note:**

> hi ya'll!
> 
> i know i have WIPs i should be working on but i got this request from the lovely Mim and it was honestly such an excellent prompt that i had to write it as soon as i could!
> 
> this fic takes place in an aged-up version of the musicalverse wherein the green card proposal fiasco never happened, and lydia and bj basically just continued playing ridiculous pranks together (and falling in love).
> 
> the prompt was essentially beetlejuice not understanding that the flu wasn't usually fatal anymore, and freaking out over lydia getting sick.
> 
> enjoy!!!

Lydia Deetz wasn’t ill often. 

Her stark white pallor might suggest otherwise, but she was, in fact, quite hardy. The last time anyone could remember her being really, seriously sick was elementary school, when she had a nasty bout of strep throat. Since then, she’d been remarkably healthy.

That might help to explain why when she, a newly twenty-two year old, woke in the night delirious with pain and retching, she was utterly unprepared.

It was Barbara who first sensed something wrong. Waking Adam, the two found Lydia curled up in a miserable heap. 

“Oh, Adam, she’s been sick!” Barbara cried, “Go fetch a rag and some Pledge.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” said Barbara, slowly approaching her and stroking her cheek. Lydia, half asleep, leaned into the cooling sensation of her touch, but said nothing. 

“We ought to get Charles and Delia,” Adam pointed out nervously as he re-entered, kneeling beside the bed to clean, “Something could be really wrong with her.”

“It seems like it's just a bad cold,” Barbara said, voice quiet, “but you’re right.” Leaning down, she gently kissed Lydia’s forehead, and the couple proceeded quickly to the master suite.

Delia Deetz lay sprawled in bed, decked out in some ridiculous taffeta nightgown. Charles, for his part, sat by his desk, head bent over some paperwork. He never did get the hang of relaxing.

“We’re a little worried about Lydia, Charles,” said Barbara. Charles startled in his chair, shaking himself before turning to look at them. “Sorry,” Barbara smiled fondly at the man, who it seemed would never quite be used to the ways ghosts came and went.

“Don’t mention it,” he said absently, scrunching his face into a yawn before asking, “What’s wrong with Lydia?”

“She seems to be sick,” Adam responded, pacing a bit on the other side of the room.

“I think it might be the flu,” Barbara offered.

“Oh,” Charles said, “Well, it was bound to happen some time. She’s gone a while without it, and she did just start that new photography class. New germ pool, you know. Alright, let’s go take a look at her.”

“Should we wake Delia?” Barbara asked, weeding the skepticism out of her voice. In order to make quadruple-parenting work, it was important that they all respect one another, even if Delia was a bit...loopy.

Charles contemplated for a moment, eyebrows creased, before sighing. ”I suppose she’ll be upset if we don’t.”

*********

Sickness was Delia’s greatest nemesis, and she fought it with a large arsenal of crystals, oils, wind chimes, and incense. As the other three stood around Lydia’s bed, contemplating the thermometer, she dashed about the room, lighting incense and entreating the illness to leave Lydia’s body.

Charles didn’t really understand his wife, but he loved her, and he knew she was trying to help, in her own way.

“102,” Adam read off the thermometer as it beeped.

“That’s a fever alright,” said Charles, side-stepping a running Delia, who was now hanging crystals everywhere she could like her life depended on it.

“There,” she announced proudly, “She should be better by the morning.”

“All the same, dear, I think we ought to run her down to urgent care tomorrow. Just to be certain, you know,” Charles contended. 

“Oh, alright,” Delia relented, “but keep one of my amber stones in her left pocket while you’re there! Don’t take it out until you get back to the house.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t dream of it, dear”, Charles intoned, and the four stood around Lydia’s bed for a moment, contemplating her shift in discomfort as she slept.

“Should we give her some Advil?” Barbara suggested cautiously.

“I hate to wake her,” said Charles.

“It is nearly morning anyway, and we don’t want her fever to be suppressed at the doctor’s,” Adam voiced.

“Why don’t we just let her get some rest, for now?” said Delia, and the other three looked at her in astonishment, for it wasn’t often she was the most level-headed among them. “Well, we have to give my crystals some time to work,” she explained, and the others nodded and laughed quietly, reassured that Delia was still Delia.

******

And so it was that Charles and Delia loaded a not quite lucid Lydia into their station-wagon early the next morning. Barbara and Adam, unable to leave the house, sat beside one another in the living room, her knitting and him doing some crossword or another. 

Suddenly, a loud crashing sound came from the foyer. Before either of them could say or do anything, a loud, gravely, obnoxious voice echoed through the entirety of the house. 

“Honey, I’m homeeeee!”

Barbara and Adam locked eyes with a bemused sort of exacerbation.

“Beetlejuice,” they said quietly in unison, and rose to greet him.

Having a powerful demon traipsing in and out of the house had taken some getting used to, but he and Lydia had bonded so instantly that it was impossible to get rid of him. Over time, the parents had come to hold a grudging respect for him. After all, he loved Lydia very much. 

The demon bounded up the stairs, teeth set in a smile that might have been menacing to those that didn’t know him. His signature pinstripe suit was ragged, and he wore it with a boyish sort of charm. Shaggy green hair falling into his eyes, he stopped short at the sight of the two ghosts, looking at him apprehensively. 

Beetlejuice didn’t take it well when Lydia was hurt in any way. When she had sprained her ankle last year, he had carried her in his arms for a full month, worried sick that she would fall and hurt herself even more if she tried to walk. It was sweet in a way, how deeply he cared for her, but the Maitlands were sure he wouldn’t take well to Lydia being ill.

“Why the long face, Barbs? Did Ann Taylor Loft finally go under?” he teased, poking her arm. “And Adam, my man, what’s got your panties in a bunch? Someone cancel your subscription to Appliances Illustrated?”

Adam scowled, but Barbara allowed herself a weary laugh. “No, Beetlejuice, everything’s fine. Lydia’s just a little under the weather, that’s all.”

His expression dropped instantaneously. “Whaddya mean, “under the weather”?”, he asked slowly, voice uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Well, we’re not exactly sure,” she began cautiously, “but it’s probably just the flu, nothing to be worried abo-”

“The FLU?” At this point, Beetlejuice was paling at an alarming rate. Even his bright green hair was losing its color, blanching until it was practically white. 

“Yes, but it really isn’t anything to be upset about, it’s going to be-” Barbara pled, but to no avail.

“Where. Is. She?” he asked, an unnerving stillness to him.

“Well, she’s at the doctor,” she replied, doing her very best to infuse her words with reassurance, but it was a difficult endeavor. Beetlejuice seemed to be shaking, and with a sudden start began to pace about the room. 

“The doctor? Oh no. Oh god, or the devil, or anyone, anyone, god, I’m not ready for this,”

“Beetlejuice,” Barbara cried, trying to calm him, “What are you talking about? She’s going to be fine.”

When he looked up, there was a glimmer of tears in his eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Babs,” he said, voice all rasp. 

With that, he was gone, in a puff of white smoke.

“This can’t be good,” intoned Adam. 

“Oh Adam,” sighed Barbara, “At least he loves her.”

******* 

There was no sign of Beetlejuice for the next few hours, which was an unnerving reprieve. The Deetzes arrived back home, a disoriented Lydia in tow, around noontime. Charles confirmed that Lydia, in fact, had the flu. 

“Not that I doubted your maternal instinct, Barbara,” he added, and she beamed. Although Lydia was an adult, co-parenting her with the Deetzes was one of Barbara’s greatest joys, and it meant the world to her to know that Charles saw her as an equal in that regard.

Delia helped Lydia back up the stairs to her room while Charles headed back out to the station-wagon to pick up the Tama-Flu the doctor had prescribed from the nearest pharmacy, which was a decent drive. For the meantime, the parents thought it best that Lydia be left to rest.

Some time before one, while Delia sat meditating on the terrace and Adam and Barbara continued that morning’s activities, a sudden commotion of noise came crashing down the stairs. 

Without so much as a word, Adam and Barbara dashed up the stairs and threw open the door to Lydia’s room to find a disheveled looking Beetlejuice, arms full of a truly absurd number of lemons. They seemed to be spilling out of his pockets and heaped up in a great pile precariously balanced in front of him. He looked, to be frank, like he had seen a ghost; skin paler than ever, eyes wide and frightened, lip bitten.

There was a long moment of silence, while the three stared at one another, unsure of what to say.

“What are you doing?” Barbara asked slowly.

“I got as many as I could,” Beetlejuice said plaintively. 

“We can see that, Lawrence,” said Adam, “but why?” 

“For...for the flu?” he replied, confused. “How do you guys not know that? Jesus Christ, she’s really gonna die with you two in charge. _Lemons_ get rid of the flu. You have to eat them and hang the rinds in the window and then you might- might get better. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Barbara shook herself slightly, starting to see what was going on. “Put the lemons down,” she said gently but firmly. “We haven’t done a very good job explaining this to you.”

“But! But we don’t have time!” he protested, his hair starting to turn an angry sort of red, but Barbara looked at him sternly and said, “Come now, you don’t want to wake her up,” and he relented. It took him at least five minutes to rid himself of all the lemons, which ended up taking up an impressive amount of floorspace.

*******

Beetlejuice sat, slouched on the couch, sick with worry. It had been many, many years since he had cared about anyone or anything the way he cared about Lydia. The thought of her death made him feel like he was being exorcized; she was his Lyds, she deserved to live a long and happy mortal life before she died. Death was cold and unforgiving, and even though he would be there for her, the thought of her having to experience it so soon was a terrible one indeed.

“A lot has changed since you were alive,” Barbara said, her voice bordering on pity in a way that threatened to make him angry. She and Adam stood on the other side of the room, exchanging nervous looks.

He scoffed, shaking an errant lemon out of his sleeve and turning it over in his hands. “So what? It’s still the flu. That was around when I was alive. I know how serious it is.”

“It’s not that serious anymore,” Adam tried to reason with him. “There’s medication for it now.”

“So people don’t die from the flu anymore?” asked Beetlejuice suspiciously.

“No, they don’t,” Barbara said confidently and hopefully.

“Then why,” he asked, anger quietly boiling, getting up, “is the waiting room constantly full of dumb newly-deads who were all feverish-like? And I know for a fact at least some of ‘em had the flu, I saw the cause of death in their file back when I worked the front desk.”

“Well, they-um. They don’t _usually_ die anymore,” Adam said nervously. 

“And you expect me to hang the fate of my beloved, my _Lydia_ , on “usually”?” he half-shouted.

“Beetlejuice,” Barbara began quietly.

“She’s eating the lemons,” he said defiantly, crossing his arms.

******

Charles had been less than pleased about the lemon ordeal when he got home from the pharmacy. He didn’t exactly disapprove of Lydia’s arrangement with Beetlejuice, but he was quick to remind the demon not to hurt her.

“She needs _rest_ , doctor’s orders! Not some hare-brained scheme involving lemons,” he said, frowning.

“It was _not_ a hare-brained scheme!” Beetlejuice insisted, pouting and angry. ”I’m trying to help her.”

“You can help her by leaving her be to rest and bask in the energy of my crystals,” chimed in Delia gently.

“Oh, the crystals are allowed but I can’t even check on her and feed her lemons which, might I remind you, cure the flu?” he cried, pointing an accusatory finger at Charles.

“First of all,” said Charles with a sigh, “They do not cure the flu. I understand that might have been something that was done when you were alive but times have changed. Secondly, crystals aside, Delia is right. She needs rest. Besides, Barbara said you saw her earlier.”

“Barely,” he muttered, sulking. 

“Just give it a little time, Beetlejuice. She’ll be okay.”

He rolled his eyes and disappeared.

****

Lydia Deetz woke up with a pounding headache and a familiar silhouette over her bed.

“Hi, bug,” she said with a smile, voice rougher than usual. “What’s wrong?”

Beetlejuice seemed to be shaking slightly, and his eyes were welled with tears.

“I didn’t mean to wake ya, love,” he said, voice shaky. “I’m sorry. They said you need rest, if you’re gonna get better.”

“Oh Beetlejuice,” she said, sitting up slightly and reaching out for him. “I’m going to be fine. Come here.”

Beetlejuice didn’t wait to be asked twice, burrowing beneath the blanket and holding her small frame close to him. 

“Were you scared, bug?” she asked, running her hands through his hair.

He nodded against her skin. “Flu’s very serious. Didn’t. Didn’t want you to die. I brought you lemons.”

“Lemons?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Used to be what we did for the flu. I. I brought you as many as I could.”

She smiled, shifting in bed so he lay on top of her and tilting his head up so she could meet his eye. “That was very sweet of you, bug. I promise I’m not going to die, okay? Not from this anyways.” She ruffled his hair and hummed softly.

“I really am sorry I woke you up,” he said shyly. “I know you need your rest.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said sleepily. “I’m glad I’ve got my cuddle-buddy here.”

******

It was seven thirty, just before Jeopardy came on, that Barbara and Charles ascended the stairs to give Lydia her medication. There had been no further Beetlejuice sightings that afternoon, which seemed too good to be true. 

Opening the door softly, their unspoken suspicions were proven true when they were met with the sight of Lydia, most of the way asleep, curled up around her undead lover, stroking his hair. Beetlejuice, for his part, lay with his head on her chest, and seemed to be counting each heartbeat under his breath. 

“Beetlejuice,” Charles said sternly. 

“I want him here, Dad,” said Lydia sleepily, “He’s helping me rest.” Privately, she knew, just then, Beetlejuice needed her as much as she needed him.

“Well,” Charles said, sharing a look with Barbara in which she gave a little nod, “I suppose as long as you’re resting, it’s alright. You’ve got to take your medicine now.”

“And some lemon,” said Beetlejuice, voice muffled but defiant.

“And some lemon,” Charles relented, astounded, as always, by the magnitude of the love shared between his daughter and the pin-striped devil.

**Author's Note:**

> lemons are an old folk remedy for colds and the flu that my great-grandmother used to use, in case anyone was wondering, and the title is taken from an old jazz song called fever :) 
> 
> thank you so much for reading!! comments are really appreciated <3


End file.
